


Lost Arguments

by Niko_Niko_Neek



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Friendship/Love, Is it a ship or is it platonic?? The answer is yours 2 decide, Lots of banter and shenanigans, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niko_Niko_Neek/pseuds/Niko_Niko_Neek
Summary: “Don’t give me that.” The look she gives him is intense with disapproval. “I have total faith in your ability to best an outdated hunk of metal, Obi-Wan, and I’ve already voiced that in the senate. If you fail, my reputation will be completely ruined, and it’ll be entirely your fault.”His grin widens and, despite the newfound tiredness that always seems to lurk just behind his eyes, he looks a moment like the young Padawan from Courascant who always tried to outsmart her.A short chronology of a few arguments Obi-Wan Kenobi has lost to Padmè Amidala.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Lost Arguments

The first time he loses an argument to her, he is twenty, and immensely irritated.

As a youngling, Obi-Wan had garnered an ill reputation for trying to reason his way out of his daily saber drills or meditative practice (which he usually took a nap during, anyway. The only Jedi who seemed charmed by this otherwise exhausting practice had been Qui-Gon, who accepted this inquisitor nature with the kind of grace and patience only he could muster up. As time had passed and Obi-Wan grew older, his solemn arguments around bedtime and snacks had morphed into an infallible sense of sarcasm.

Being trapped aboard a small desert-bound ship, with nothing but time and boredom, Qui-Qon should have expected his apprentice to offer his own opinion on most everything.

Obi-Wan just hadn’t expected to find another person who shared his liking for the practice.

“I don’t understand why the Naboo ships are made this way,” the young man mused to himself, situated rather uncomfortably on his back beneath the sparking control panels. “These parts are all more expensive than they’re worth. Trust something like that from a planet that still uses monarchy.”

“All this coming from a monastic order that still believes in fate?”

The smug, amused response seemed to have materialized from thin air, and Obi-Wan sits up too quickly, earning himself a heavy collision with the control panel and his head. Grumbling a few swear words, he extracts himself from the panel, instead electing to sit with his back leaning against it. He can now observe one of the Queen’s own handmaidens, dressed in casual wear-the one who, for whatever odd reason, had been insisted accompany them. The situation would be comical if it had happened to somebody else, but seeing as it had happened to him, Obi-Wan didn’t see it as all that humorous.

But, manners outweigh all. “You’ll have to forgive me, milady. I was under the impression everyone had left the ship.”

A brow quirks, skeptical, but still amused. “Milady? That’s about ten times more formal than it needs to be, Master Kenobi. Just Padmè is fine.”

“Master’s too formal for me. Just Obi-Wan would be alright.”

He fires back either more quickly than she would’ve predicted, or too friendly for what might be expected. Either way, her look of careful observation is covering up hidden approval. Obi-Wan soon turns back to the controls, however, though this time it’s more to just glare at them and hope they decide to start working by themselves.

“Then perhaps you’ll enlighten me, Obi-Wan. Wouldn’t this mystical Force of yours show you the proper way to repair the ship?”

A tinge of irritation has to be dismissed-it’s a common misconception, one he answers in his own way. “That’s not how the Force works.”

Despite his abrasive manner, she still comes to kneel ad a respectable distance beside him, regarding the busted cables. He sighs and leans back on his hands. “It’s more of an instinct than a manual. If that makes any sense.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t, but then again, I haven’t studied it much.” Padmè rests one arm atop a bent knee. “You’ll have to understand my viewpoint. I place too much value in my choices to resign myself to some strange governing will setting me on one path versus another. It seems limiting.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” A faint smile tugs the left corner of his mouth upward. “One could see it more as an ally, helping you in whatever you choose to do.” It’s Qui-Gon speaking through him, mostly-his many proverbs have etched their way into Obi-Wan’s memory.

“Don’t the Jedi advise against choice?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but with how quickly she’s trying to debunk everything he says, it’s difficult to come up with a sound response in time. To her credit she waits, but less to her credit, he can sense a brimming laugh.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude. Normally I bicker about philosophy with the other ladies, but seeing as I won’t be seeing them until much later…”She trails off, giving a small shrug. “I don’t get much of a chance to discuss things like this.”

“Odd.” Obi-Wan tilts his head. “I was under the impression most handmaidens were silent most of the time.”

Padmè stands to leave, but not before casting a quizzical look his way. “I wasn’t under the impression that Jedi try to be funny. I can see why they wouldn’t.”

She grins to show it’s all in fun, but he’s left musing over that until Qui-Gon returns with the boy in tow.

————

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous already.”

His boots make no clicking sound on the red carpeted hall, instead producing little more than a dull scuff with each tread he takes. To be fair, he’s dragging his feet a bit, both buying time for a response and prolonging the inevitable. Senator Amidala is his complete contrary-her head is held high with practiced dignity, and her expression-masked with a polite vacancy-only fractures when she turns her head to regard him with amusement.

“I don’t like politics.” Obi-Wan, now a Knight, can find no recourse in his extensive training that would help him attend a diplomatic meeting. “Which begs the question why I’m here to begin with.”

“To defend my honor, obviously.” Padmè rolls her eyes at the indication-it’s clear that she has taken to himself and Anakin’s latest assignment with about as much enthusiasm as he is taking to standing guard during an hours-long meeting. “Not as if I carry a blaster under this dress and am entirely capable of looking after myself or anything.”

“Ah, the sexism of the senate,” Obi-Wan sighs in mocking sympathy, but his smile is warm. “In that case, maybe I should leave you to attend this yourself. There’s a cantina down the street I’ve been interested in trying-“

The punch to his arm is swift. A moment later, two representatives from Kasshyk pass, and Padmè’s hands return to being lightly clasped in front of her so quickly that Obi-Wan would think it had never happened-that is, if his biceps wasn’t still stinging beneath his robes.

“I don’t appreciate that,” he mutters, casting her a narrow-eyed glance.

“Lighten up, Master Jedi. You have a duty to attend to.”

————  
His arms ache from the strain of being chained above his head. Though his legs are tired, Obi-Wan knows far better than to relax and let his arms take the weight-he’d run the risk of breaking his shoulders. 

“This is far from your best escape plan, milady.”

“It’s still just Padmè, Obi-Wan, and if you can stop grumbling for ten seconds and let me concentrate, I can work on getting the three of us out of this.”

The roar of the gathered crowd is deafening, and the only person who wasn’t sweating was Anakin, who was used to sweltering climate. On the contrary, his apprentice seems defiant, almost daring the execution to go underway. 

The next time he looks over, Padmè is in the process of shimmying up the column by use of the chains.

Yet another argument he’s lost.

\------

Blaster-fire from the atmosphere of Courascant is a common occurrence these days. The sun sets fire to the clouds, and he has to admit that the view from the senatorial apartments is breathtaking-if you were a city person. Obi-Wan isn’t, really. When he pictures peace, he pictures some outer-rim planet, far away from everything. 

His forearms rest on the curved stone of the balcony railing, Typically, he would be concerned about being spotted from the street level-after all, he couldn’t use official business as an excuse for his presence here. But, at the present time, he can’t really be bothered.

“I can hear you moping from here.”

A small, amused smile paints his face as he turns to look over his shoulder. The senator is still engrossed in work, watching a hologram of a meeting she’d been absent for with a studious intensity. “Are you entirely sure you aren’t Force-Sensitive, Padmè?” He inquires. “There might still be time to make a Jedi out of you.”

“It’s got nothing to do with that.” She switches the recording off, finally turning to regard Obi-Wan with some degree of sterness. “People here might hail you as some kind of wisened Master, but that doesn’t apply up here. Some of us know perfectly well how to tell what you’re thinking without magic.”

“It isn’t magic,” Obi-Wan insists, returning from his spot outside.

She shrugs. “Intuition, then.”

“Have you solved all the problems in the senate yet?”

He means it in a teasing way, but her expression darkens. He searches blindly for some words of comfort, but between Anakin’s recent self-isolation, the growing uncertainty of the Jedi Council, and the constant meddling from the Chancellor, he can find little.

“Sometimes,” Padmè says after a moment, “I wonder if you’re the only friend I have left.”

He frowns and crosses the room to sit beside her. She leans her shoulder against his when he does. “You’re off to battle Grevious tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“If he happens to be there.”

Her frown deepens. “You know, your Council is very inconsiderate. Anakin is already bored of my senate recaps, and I’m afraid I can’t bother with gossip with anyone else. Which is a tragedy, really.”

A light chuckle escaped him. “You’ll have to write it all down and tell me when I come back, if I do.”

“Don’t give me that.” The look she gives him is intense with disapproval. “I have total faith in your ability to best an outdated hunk of metal, Obi-Wan, and I’ve already voiced that in the senate. If you fail, my reputation will be completely ruined, and it’ll be entirely your fault.”

His grin widens and, despite the newfound tiredness that always seems to lurk just behind his eyes, he looks a moment like the young Padawan from Courascant who always tried to outsmart her.

“You know I’ll miss you, though.” The sincerity in her voice softens him.

“I’m sure I’ll be back soon,” he replies. “I have a feeling about it.”

Before he heads out to his spacecraft, she kisses his cheek once and tells him it’s for luck.

It’s one of the last times he sees her alive.

\-------

He moves slower, these days.

Part of it is the sand-the friction and yielding terrain beneath his feet forces him to walk slower and makes running almost impossible. But, the better part of his joints, loathe as he is to admit it. He’s no longer a young master in his thirties, but an old and tired man in his sixties.

The heat of the twin suns has baked his skin into a tough leather and bleached both his beard and his hair white. Still, there is a kind of contentedness in his hermitage, if only once in a while. The stars here are vast, and far brighter than they had ever been in the city. 

Luke must have already been put down to sleep. The boy had grown fast-it seemed only yesterday that Obi-Wan had passed him to Owen as an infant. Now, he was already toddling around with the same focused air his father had.

If he was being truthful, though, Luke reminds him far more of Padmè. It’s in the eyes-they’re resilient, but there’s a certain kindness to them he’d found unreplicated anywhere else.

\------------

His own mortality is something Obi-Wan has been in tune with since he was a young man, but curiosity still is the primary emotion when he considers it. He understands that he will be distilled to mere energy. This is what has been told, what he has seen.

There is no pain when the lightsaber cuts through him, and soon enough, there is no Ben. A fleeting thought enters his head just before the red plasma eats at him.

_Padmè ought to have a lot of gossip to tell me by now._


End file.
